


Sons and Lovers

by Steamshovelmama



Series: Tumblr fic prompts [5]
Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, father/son relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steamshovelmama/pseuds/Steamshovelmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Anon prompt</p><p>Henry walks in on a teenage Abraham and a girlfriend</p><p>Bookend to "Fathers and Lovers"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sons and Lovers

“Will you be alright?” Abigail asked as she dropped Henry outside their house.

“Of course,” he said reassuringly. “It’s only a sprained wrist. I’ll have a quiet evening in, enjoy the rest.”

She nodded and leaned over to kiss him, avoiding the sling that held his wrist against his shoulder. “Have fun. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He touched her face gently then climbed awkwardly out of the car. The sling was throwing his balance off.

“Have a good shift,” he said as he did his best to pull his keys out of his opposite trouser pocket with his good hand.

Abigail waved and drove off. Henry let himself into their house and hung his jacket up. The sound of _Sam Cooke’s_ _Wonderful World_ , Abraham’s current favourite album, was easily audible throughout the house. Henry sighed. At this rate Abraham would be deaf by the time he was twenty.

He decided to take the garbage out before he kicked his shoes off and relaxed. Perhaps he’d enjoy a glass of whisky to help the pain killers along. It would help him sleep too. He never slept as well or as easily when Abigail was working nights.

He flipped the bin lid up and tried to pull the liner out but it was overstuffed and the bin lifted with it. He tried bracing the bin with his feet and pulling before giving up.

“Abraham!” He yelled up the stairs. Predictably there was no reply. He jogged up the stairs to his son’s bedroom. He knocked briefly but there was no way the boy would hear him over his music so he pushed the door open and stepped in.

“Abraham, can you-” Henry stopped dead, stood frozen for a second then shut the door and went back down stairs.

He was definitely having that whisky.

When had Abraham started – well, the boy had always been popular with girls – but he was only sixteen! And who was the girl?

Henry sat down in the kitchen and sipped his drink, all of a sudden very worried. What had he got around to telling Abraham about relationships? He’d meant to make sure the boy had a good and sensible understanding of that side of things but the time had gone by so quickly. Surely it was only yesterday Abraham had been a baby, crawling around at his feet. And now…

Well, his little boy was a young man, at least in some ways. Perhaps he should have realised. Abraham shaved at least once a week, was taller than him, had his own pronounced opinions about music, sport, politics and the rest. And he was proud of his boy’s independence of mind. There was a joy in watching your child learn to meet the world on their own terms and even a bittersweet satisfaction in knowing that they didn’t need you – and even more often, didn’t want you – anymore.

There was a clatter of feet on the stairs. Henry stayed in the kitchen listening to the two voices and the front door open and shut.

Abraham came into the kitchen looking defensive and evidently ready for an argument.

“My apologies,” said Henry.  “I was sent home from work early.” He indicated his sling. “Invalided out.”

Abraham looked surprised.

“I would never have deliberately embarrassed you like that.”

“You… you’re not mad?” Abraham asked and Henry could see the boy who still lurked within the young man.

“For doing something you naturally want to?” Henry shook his head. “I’m a little worried about you, that’s all. What you choose to do and with whom is entirely your business.”

The slack jawed look of shock on his son’s face was almost funny.

“Sit down,” Henry said. “Want a beer?”

Abraham looked alarmed. “Who are you and what have you done with my father?” he asked.

“What? You imagine I don’t know you sneak a beer every so often?” Henry smiled. “This country is very puritanical about alcohol. When I was your age I drank wine and port all the time. Plus, I can count. I know how much we buy.”

He fetched a bottle from the fridge and dropped it in front of his son. “I’d take a drink,” he advised. “We have to have a conversation and you may need it.”

His son lowered himself hesitantly into a chair and raised the beer to his mouth.

Abraham was looking completely lost. Any defiance and aggressiveness seemed buried under confusion. “A conversation?” he asked uncertainly.

“Yes,” Henry said, firmly. “There are things I need to make sure you know.”

“If it’s the birds and the bees,” Abraham said, “You’re a bit late.”

“I noticed,” Henry said drily. “And no, I’m fairly sure you can work most of that out yourself by trial and error. The rest of us did. No, I want to make sure you’re being sensible and taking responsibility at the same time as exercising your right to do what you want with your body.”

Abraham froze his eyes wide and resembling a deer caught in headlights.

“Responsibility?” he squeaked. “Geez, Dad, I can’t talk to you about this!”

“Oh yes, you can,” Henry said firmly. “And you will. Consider it payment for me seeing something I really never wanted or needed to. And,” he added, “for not telling your mother.”

“OK,” Abraham said hurriedly. “Do we have to?” he all but whined, and there was the boy again.

“Yes.” Henry took a breath. “Most importantly, did you use protection?”

His son went red, looked shifty and stared fixedly at his beer bottle.

“Oh, Abraham!” Henry dropped his head into his hands. “No,” he said after a moment. “No, this is my fault. I should have prepared you better than this. You know about prophylactics?”

His son was a dull, brick red. “Um, yeah,” he said.

“Good. You know where to get them?”

“Drug store,” Abraham mumbled. “But you have to ask for them!” he protested, “And there’s women there,” he ended in a mutter.

“Yes, well,” Henry said, “if you’re old enough to need to use them, you’re old enough to buy them.” He smiled gently, “The rest of us have to be man enough to deal with that. You do too.”

There was a gusty sigh from the other side of the table. “She said it was alright not to-“

“This isn’t about her,” said Henry sharply. “Whatever she prefers, you choose to be responsible for yourself.”

“I’m not going to catch anything from Carrie,” Abraham protested. “She’s a nice girl, not a –” he stopped abruptly at Henry’s face.

“Don’t,” said Henry sternly. “Don’t criticise a girl for doing the same as you. And that assumes she’s telling the truth about her history. She’s in bed with you, so neither of you are exactly pure as the driven snow, are you? And, quite frankly Abraham, your mother won’t thank you with providing her with a grandchild at her age.”

“She said it was the wrong time for her to,” Abraham waved his hand, “you know.”

“Conceive?” Henry asked. “Well, girls can be ignorant too which is why you have to have your own standards. Believe me, there is _no_ point at which it is impossible to conceive.”

Abraham was now white. “I didn’t,” he stuttered, “I mean we didn’t finish… You came in and then…” he trailed off.

“And that’s a myth too,” Henry told him. “You can impregnate a girl whether you ejaculate or not.” He ignored Abraham’s strangled noise when he heard the word ejaculate from his father.

“Oh god,” his son said miserably. Henry wasn’t sure whether the despair was related to the boy’s own actions or to having this conversation with his father.

“So,” Henry asked, “Prophylactics?”

Abraham nodded dumbly. “OK. Are we done?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said. “I just want to know if you understand something else. This isn’t just about you.”

“What?” Abraham asked, looking as though he knew he was going to be ambushed but wasn’t sure where the attack was going to come from.

“Your girl should enjoy it too,” Henry pointed out.

“Oh,” Abraham seemed relieved. “Yeah, I mean what’s the point if she’s not keen?”

“That’s a good start,” Henry said. “But I mean she should enjoy it _as much as you._ Do you understand what I mean?”

“Umm, yes?” said Abraham uncertainly. “I guess.”

Henry debated the possibility of explaining the mechanics of female orgasm to his sixteen year old son and came to the conclusion that any attempt would probably mortify both of them beyond endurance, possibly destroy any relationship the two of them had and anyway, the chances of Abraham taking any notice of what his father said was too remote to be considered.

“I’ll get you some literature,” he said, to both their relief. “And you will read, learn and inwardly digest. Alright?”

Abraham nodded eagerly. Henry suspected the eagerness was to do with the end of the conversation looming rather than the desire for new knowledge. Perhaps something with pictures to hold the boy’s attention? Diagrams at least…

“Very well,” he said. “Just promise me there’ll be no young ladies turning up with bundles in their arms for a few years yet and that I won’t be finding antibiotics for suspicious ailments stashed away in your bedroom?”

“Promise,” Abraham said fidgeting in his seat. “Is that it?”

Henry waved him away.

Abraham got as far as the door before he turned back and said, avoiding his father’s eyes. “Thanks Dad.”

Henry stared after him, too surprised to say anything at first. “You’re very welcome,” he finally said, under his voice, to his son’s retreating back.

 

 


End file.
